


Raindrops

by snowyfoxpaws



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:36:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowyfoxpaws/pseuds/snowyfoxpaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the sky tips upside down and pours its contents out, it washes all our sins away.</p>
<p>Alfred 'Hero' Jones is a superman with super speed, super strength, and the power of flight, yet despite that his heart is as vulnerable as anyone else's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OwynSama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwynSama/gifts).



> Originally posted on tumblr.

What’s the difference between a superhero and a regular person? Is it the suit? Is it the powers?

Or is it just the drive to do what’s right? To put yourself on the line for anything and anyone, for the sake of justice?

No, normal people can do that too.

But this story isn’t about normal people.

 

 

"So, I heard you went and got yourself a girlfriend. Is she cute?"

Alfred wrinkled his nose at Gilbert. “ _Boyfriend_.” He corrected.

"Boyfriend, then." The albino said, downing half of the pint in his hand before coming back up for air. Alfred wasn’t sure whether it was a blessing or a curse that he could drink on end and not get drunk. Considering that he often tried anyway, he figured it was probably the latter. "Is he cute?"

"Well,  _yeah_.” Alfred said. “I think so, anyway.”

"What’s he do? Another super or—?" Those red eyes crinkled at the edges. "Please tell me it’s not Kiku."

"What’s wrong with—," Alfred shook his head. "No, no, it’s not Kiku. It’s not a super." He hesitated, adjusting the glass in his hand before, "It’s a… normal human."

Gilbert sucked in a breath of air between his teeth.

A beat of silence passed.

"Well, good luck with that." His friend told him, finishing off his pint and ordering another.

 

 

"Is he cute?" Francis asked, pursuing one of the random magazines Alfred had left out on his coffee table.

The owner of the apartment rolled his eyes at the question. “Yes! Yes, he’s cute. Why does everyone keep asking me that—?”

The Frenchman huffed a laugh. “Maybe,  _mon cher_ , because you are going out of your way to date someone you will most certainly outlive.”

He glowered at his uninvited guest, standing there for a moment with his arms crossed over his chest.

Francis looked up at him, not offering an apology although the message was the same despite the silence.

'You know we're just worried about you.'

"So…" The bearded man drawled. "What does he do?"

Relaxing slightly, Alfred smiled. “Well, uh… he’s a weatherman.”

"Oho~?" Francis gave him an incredulous look. "You certainly aim for the stars, don’t you?"

"Francis?"

“ _Oui_ ~?”

"Stop sneaking into my home."

 

 

"Alfred…" Matthew said slowly, looking up at him with soft eyes from over the newspaper he had propped up on his knee. "Are you  _sure_  this is a good idea?”

"Oh god, not you too…"

"I mean, a human is— well…"

"I know." Alfred said tensely. "Look, I get it. I know. You think I don’t know what happened two years ago? But that has nothing to do with me. It’s not like every villain plots to kill our loved ones. They were— it was unfortunate. I’m not making light of it. But you all need to give it a rest. We can’t just stop socializing with humans because— what? Because we’re _scared?_  That’s ridiculous.”

Matthew watched him, silent, a sad look behind those round glasses. “You were the most upset of all of us, well, aside from, you know... You said that it wasn’t worth it to involve them if they just got hurt…”

Alfred glared at the carpet of his brother’s apartment. “I know.”

The other man exhaled a noise—a laugh or a sigh?—and shook his head. “You must really like this guy…”

The corner of Alfred’s lip quirked. “I do.” He admitted. “I love him.”

 

 

"I am having a small party in two weeks." Kiku said warmly, handing Alfred an invitation. "I would like to invite you, Alfred-san."

"A party?" He said, grinning at the paper as he looked it over. "Awesome!"

"If you would like to… you may bring a guest." The quieter man pointed out.

"Oh?"

Kiku nodded. “If you would like, you could bring your significant other.”

Alfred faltered. “Oh, well, uh…”

"He would be welcome to come."

"Yeah, um… Yeah, I’ll bring him!" Alfred assured, grinning. He gestured with the paper. "I’m sure he’d love this!"

Dark eyes watched him, quiet for a moment, before, “Does he know about—?”

"My powers?" Alfred guessed, "Yeah! ‘Course! I told him right away, y’know, since… like… you can’t start a good relationship on lies, right?" He laughed.

Kiku blinked. “I see…” He said slowly. And then a smile ghosted his lips. “I am sure we will all look forward to meeting him.”

Alfred grinned, the expression strangely stiff. “You’d better!” He said, giving his friend a thumbs up.

 

 

"Oh! Alfred!" Elizaveta greeted, unsurprisingly one of the first to catch him upon his arrival. She always had something of a knack for finding him when he least wanted her too. He supposed that fit. "Welcome! Where’s your boyfriend?"

Alfred gave her a sheepish look, rubbing the back of his neck. “He… wasn’t feeling well, so he won’t be coming…”

"O- oh…" Her face fell before it became worried. "Is he okay?"

"Oh— yeah, he’ll be okay. He just didn’t think it would be smart to come out tonight, so he had to decline."

Elizaveta frowned lightly. “You didn’t have to come here if he’s ill, you know. You could have stayed home too. I’m sure Kiku would have understood.”

Alfred nodded. “Yeah, actually— I just came by to tell him and bring him the food I said I was gonna help supply.” He gave her a wink. “Made cupcakes and everything.”

Her face turned slightly green at the mention of his baking. “W- well! I’m sure he’ll enjoy that then.” And then, “Sorry again about your boyfriend!”

"It’s alright." Alfred said easily. "He’ll just come next time."

 

 

"So, uh… I’m startin’ to think this boyfriend of Al’s isn’t real." Gilbert drawled from where he stood perched on the edge of the building. He took a drag of his cigarette.

Elizaveta hummed, swinging her mace for lack of anything to do. “What do you mean?”

The vampire snorted. “C’mon. He’s missed  _how many_  events now? Sick, sick, business, busy, out of town, sick— it’s starting to get ridiculous.”

"I guess." She admitted, halting the mace mid-swing and resting the handle on her shoulder. "It suppose it is a little…"

She paused.

”.. worrying?”

Gilbert took another drag. “I just don’t want him going crazy on us.”

"Have you talked to him about this—?" Elizaveta queried.

For a moment the vampire was guiltily silent. “… No?”

She rolled her eyes. “Talk to him about it.”

"But—,"

“ _Talk to him about it_.” She said, emphasizing each word as she began to swing her mace again. The half-ton weapon gleamed at him in the moonlight. (Well, half-ton to anyone that wasn’t  _her_. To her it weighed little more than a pillow.)

Gilbert sulked and muttered a reluctant, “Fine.”

 

 

Alfred was laughing. “What do you mean y’all think he’s not real! ‘Course he’s real!”

"See, he’s real. Can we go now?" Gilbert griped, more than exhausted. Elizaveta had whined to Roderich and Roderich was a prompt ass and now he was out during the day when he really, really didn’t want to be.

It wasn’t worth dying over some stupid fucking gossip.

"If he is real then why has no one ever seen him?" Roderich pressed, expression grave.

"W- well, because he’s busy and stuff!" Alfred said defensively, frowning at the accusation. He hadn’t expected morning guests nor had he expected the inquisition. Maybe the fact that he was just in his boxers would make them leave sooner.

"So busy that he cannot attend a single social event in…" Roderich looked at the date on his watch, "a six month time span?"

Alfred pouted.

"So he is either imaginary or he does not care about you." Roderich concluded.

No one could have predicted that in seconds there would be an indent in the wall from where Alfred had pinned his fellow superhero, the dark-haired man’s glasses skittering across the floor in the clamor. “ _Take that back_.” He hissed.

Roderich, for what it was worth, glared at him. It was decidedly difficult to injure a man who could turn his skin to diamond. “If he _is_ real, you are a fool to have not considered this possibility yourself.”

Alfred pulled him back and shoved him into the wall again with a crack— the noise being the sound of the brickwork crumbling. “Take it back.”

"Fine." Roderich said icily. "Pursue your delusions. I care not what you do."

Releasing him, Alfred stepped away, gaze turning to Gilbert who immediately grimaced.

"I’m good." The albino said, raising a hand. "No questions here."

Alfred snorted and left for his bedroom. When he came back, the two were gone.

He covered the crack in the wall with a poster.

 

 

"Kiku, is there anything you can do to help him?" Elizaveta asked the fox as he worked at one of the devices in his workshop.

The man’s long, pointed ear twitched from atop his head and he looked up from the tool he was calibrating. “What would you like for me to do?”

"Well, you’re his friend, right?" She said, leaning against the table.

"I am." Kiku confirmed.

Elizaveta smiled at that. “So… can’t you _do_ something about this ‘boyfriend’ of his?”

The dark-eyed man regarded her, the light hanging low above the table, illuminating his face and his slit pupils. “You do not believe that he exists.” He stated, as though realizing this.

"Well, no, of course I don’t. I mean… he sounds perfect, right? And Alfred likes to tell all those stories about him, but…"

"But we have not met him."

"Exactly."

Kiku was quiet for a moment before his eyes flickered back to his electronics. “I have considered this possibility as well.” He admitted. “However… what would we gain by revealing his lover to be a farce?”

"What?"

The fox looked up at her. “Alfred is happy.” He said coolly. “He arrives at the headquarters with a bounce in his step and he leaves with a smile. Do we want to destroy this?”

Elizaveta shook her head. “Yeah, but… I mean, don’t they say that about depressed people sometimes? That they look happiest before… you know…”

Suddenly Kiku looked up at her, alarmed, the ears on his head swiveling forward. “Surely you don’t mean—…”

"I’m worried." She admitted, shrugging. "I don’t want to ignore the signs and… and possibly lose a friend."

He relaxed slightly, but his focus was, for once, very far away from his inventions. “I will see what I can do.”

"Thanks, Kiku."

 

 

Alfred opened his front door to find around fifteen people standing at his doormat.

"Okay, what the fuck guys."

He groaned as they let themselves in. Some placated him with boxes of cookies and other snacks as they set up around his living room.

Kiku approached him, standing tall and straight as he said, “Alfred, this is an intervention.”

Sky blue eyes stared at him blankly. “For what?”

"We’re worried about you." Francis quipped, tugging on his arm and guiding him to sit on the couch. Others had taken up seats too, but many were left standing.

Alfred frowned at all of them. “Wait— why? What’s going on?”

"This… charade of yours has been going on long enough." Said Ludwig, Gilbert's brother, likewise a vampire, gruffly.

Running his hand through his hair, he groaned. “Guys, look— I get it, okay. You all don’t think he’s real. But now’s really not the time for—,”

"Then when  _is_  the right time, Alfred?” Roderich pressed.

"No, I mean—,"

"We just, like, want to help you." A man named Feliks added, standing with his hands on his lips.

Toris, a long-time friend of Alfred's, nodded at his side. “We… we care about you.” He added awkwardly.

"I know, I know." Alfred said, standing up now despite how Matthew immediately tried to tug him to sit back down. He shrugged his brother’s hand off. "But seriously, if you could just come back some other time—,"

"No, Alfred-san." Kiku said softly. "This needs to be resolved now. We have gathered here for that purpose."

"Yeah!" Gilbert barked in agreement. "So just sit back down and—,"

A crack of thunder hit, so loud and pointed that it made the room fall quiet as the lights flickered.

The door to the bedroom flew open and a man in Union Jack boxers and a dress shirt that looked suspiciously like one of Alfred’s walked out.

"I don’t give one bloody fuck who the lot of you are, but if you do not  _shut up_ , so help me, I will drown you in the ocean!” The man told them before turning on his heel and striding out of the room, hair sleep mussed and deep purple marks under his eyes.

The bedroom door slammed shut and moments later a torrent of rain could be heard rattling the windows.

Everyone looked at each other and then at Alfred.

The man in question had his lips pressed together in a line, an exasperated look on his face. “Told ya now was a bad time.” He said. “He’s hella jet lagged.”

 

 

"I thought you said the guy was human." Gilbert pointed out, frowning at him as he made his coffee in the too-small break room of their headquarters.

"He _is_  human.” Alfred said as he mixed cream into his cup, annoyed. Ever since he’d chased them out of his house they’d been asking question after question.

"Yeah, no, humans don’t control the weather."

Alfred stood straight and eyed his friend. “So?”

"That makes him a super."

"No."

"Yes." The vampire insisted.

"No.."

"He has an ability, Alfred."

"No," the blond man corrected stubbornly, "he doesn’t. He told me he doesn't."

 

 

His name was Arthur.

"So, you can control the weather." Gilbert said by way of introduction. "That’s neat."

Arthur blinked at him, green eyes uncomprehending from where he stood by the snack table with a plastic cup of soda mixed with alcohol. He even had a festive, red and green jumper on. He looked more than prepared for a Christmas office party.

Which was what this was being played off as to the hotel staff.

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur said, frowning at him.

Gilbert grinned slightly and flicked one of his bushy brows, making him recoil in annoyance. “You know, like how you made it rain when we were at Alfred's apartment.”

The man just laughed. “Sorry— I’m not that kind of weatherman.” He said, shaking his head, the edge of a lip quirking in a smirk. “I just tell people what the weather is going to be on the telly.”

“ _Uh huh_ …” Gilbert drawled sarcastically. “And Alfred  _doesn’t_  have super strength…”

Arthur stared at him, frowning. There was no comprehension in those bright green eyes.

A hand clapped down on Gilbert’s shoulder as Alfred leaned in and offered the vampire a megawatt smile, “Having a nice conversation, huh? Whatcha talkin’ about?”

"Alfred, this man claims that you have super strength." Arthur informed him, smiling now with a glimmer of mirth in his eyes, jokingly awaiting confirmation of such a magnificent power.

He grinned at his boyfriend. “ _In bed_ , right?” He said with a wink.

Gilbert had to give Arthur some credit.

He’d never seen someone turn that red that fast without having that as a special ability.

 

 

"You haven’t told him yet, Al?" Matthew said, looking at his brother with open concern. "Why did you lie to me?"

"I… I don’t know, okay." He said. "He’s— He’s  _human_ , Matt! Like, _really_   _human_. He doesn’t even know that we exist, ‘cause we’re not really known at all in the UK and they’ve got different stuff over there and… I dunno…”

"We’re in the news." Matthew pointed out.

"Not if we can help it." Alfred said. "He… He’s part of that group that thinks we’re all, like, teenagers in costumes or something. And, I mean, that’s what the government  _wants_ , right? So it’s not _that_   weird that he’d think that…”

"Alfred, how long have you two been together?"

A breath and then, “Eleven months now…”

"Damn it, Al." The longer-haired blond rubbed at his temples. "What does he think you do for a living?"

"Well, uh… he thinks I’m a pilot."

Matthew looked at him. “Gil’ told me about the whole powers thing.” And then, “Alfred, your entire relationship is based on lies.”

Alfred stared down at the cafe table, slumping slightly in his seat. “I know.”

"You have to fix this."

"I know."

 

 

"Arthur…" Alfred said as his boyfriend walked in that evening, wringing his hands. "I have something to tell you."

"No." Arthur corrected cheerfully. "I have something to tell  _you_.”

Alfred blinked at him. “What?”

His boyfriend grinned. “I was just promoted.” He said. “I’m now the channel’s _senior_ weatherman!”

"Oh, that’s awesome!" He said, laughing as Arthur practically jumped into his arms. It was rare to see him in such high spirits, but he swung him around all the same before setting him down. "Was that why they were working you so hard lately?"

"I bloody well don’t know." Arthur admitted. "But that doesn’t matter. That’s not my job anymore."

"Yeah, I guess it’s not."

Arthur beamed at him. “Let’s have sex.”

Alfred couldn’t possibly deny him when he put it like that.

 

 

He just couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t tell Arthur the truth.

 

 

It was their one year anniversary.

Alfred knew because he was more than aware that he’d get into a lot of trouble if he  _didn’t_  know. And it wasn’t like it was a secret anyway— not with the way Arthur had circled it on the calendar on the fridge.

One year ago he’d met him wandering aimlessly around the streets of New York city, a crisp, black umbrella overhead to shield him from the downpour and a sharp, green pea coat to keep him warm.

A gust had picked up at the wrong moment, dragging him just the inch or two it took for him to stumble off the curb.

He’d almost been hit by an oncoming bus.

But then Alfred was there and a short tackle later they were sprawled across the side walk.

Arthur had opened his eyes and it was like something had come alive inside of Alfred.

It was awkward and he had fumbled but, somehow, saving a stranger’s life had turned into a first date. Quickly followed by a second. And then a third. And then a ‘don’t think I’m easy, I just happen to like you’ shag, as Arthur had called it.

All of that had been exactly one year ago.

It was raining.

 

 

Dinner was amazing.

It wasn’t the wine or the food or the candles or the roses or the gifts they exchanged that did it. It was the fond, warm smiles, the quiet, inside jokes, the heartfelt laughter and the love. It felt real. It felt more real than anything else before it ever had.

And they weren’t getting any younger.

"Arthur." He’d murmured, reaching out to take his boyfriend’s hand. It was cool in his own and those smaller fingers squeezed his. "Will you marry me?"

Green eyes snapped up to meet his. “What?” He breathed.

"Marry me?" Alfred said softly, repeating the question. He smiled tentatively, pulling a small black box out of his suit jacket.

Arthur’s hand flew up to cover his mouth, those green eyes quickly turning emotional and teary. “I—…”

He’d expected this sort of reaction and it caused a chuckle to bubble up in his throat. “I guess… maybe it’s sudden but…” He got out of his chair, kneeling properly on the floor of the restaurant, aware of the sudden wave of murmurs as it caught the attention of the other tables.

"Alfred—!" Arthur hissed suddenly, looking alarmed. "You… I…"

A pang of… uncertainty struck Alfred.

Those beautiful, green eyes didn’t look happy.

They looked scared.

"I… I can’t do this." Arthur breathed, voice just above a whisper. And then he murmured a barely audible, "I’m sorry." and fled the table and the restaurant.

Alfred stood up, face burning with humiliation as the other tables began to murmur anew.

But, more than that… his eyes stung. His heart reeled with a pain that made him feel like it was being torn in half.

He slapped some bills on the table and left, shame and heartbreak trailing after.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred wasn’t sure how long he had wandered. The streets were cool and damp with a fine night’s misting, fog hanging low and casting orbs of light around the streetlamps. He and Arthur lived together and going home meant facing the man that had just turned him down—it meant an awkward night in bed or, more likely, on the couch, followed by a more than awkward discussion about their future in the morning.

He could hold out hope, he thought.

Maybe Arthur had had a reason to reject him? Maybe it was his family or maybe he just wasn’t ready? But it still stung regardless, especially the way he’d just… left. No explanation,  _no nothing_. Alfred had thought things were going so well and… they clearly weren’t. Not if Arthur had looked at him like  _that_.

Not if Arthur’s eyes had shimmered with sadness above all else.

It was nearly six in the morning when he finally returned home, remorseful but numb, praying Arthur hadn’t stayed up all night waiting for him. He wasn’t sure if he could live the guilt of worrying him down, but at least it’d be reassuring in some small way.

They loved each other, right? So they could get through this— this hitch. This bump. It’d all be fine…

His key entered the lock with a metallic scrape and turned with a click. As he walked inside, he felt the warmth of the heat turned up to combat the outside chill.

Everything was dark.

Toeing off his shoes, he shut and locked the door, but as he traveled further in he felt his heart sink as something very important hit him.

Arthur wasn’t here.

Or, really, Arthur hadn’t been here since they’d left last night.

Worry started to mingle with uncertainty and he pulled his phone out of his pocket, noting the absence of messages or calls. If he’d gone out drinking then he would have probably rung him already, bawling something incoherent at one in the morning and demanding he be picked up. But… maybe he’d just gone to a friend’s house instead? It wasn’t that unlikely, right? It  _had_   happened before…

His heart was thrumming in his chest, but he tried to remain calm.

That was until he stepped foot in the kitchen and notcied the proud vase of sunflowers sitting on the tiled island. Everything seemed to fade away as he focused in on the little slip of paper that hung taped to the lip, moving forward with mindless rigidity.

‘ _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_  
 _You make me happy when skies are grey_  
 _You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you_  
 _Please don’t take my sunshine away_ ’

 

 

Ivan smiled at him, lips pressed firmly together, pleased. “It took you quite a while…” He remarked pleasantly, leaning on a long metal pipe. His voice bounced against the walls of the warehouse, eerie and quiet at so early in the morning.

An ex-hero. A villain. Whatever you wanted to call him, he stood opposite of Alfred and his friends. He’d stood  _with_   them once, a long, long time ago, but then… something had snapped.

And, honestly, Alfred could care less about his past as a do-gooder, considering all the shit he’d put them through the last few years.

"That is a scary face. Shame on you." Ivan chided lightly.

"Where is he?" Alfred ground out, not in the mood for games.

"Where is who?" The Russian man asked kindly, cocking his head. "You have to be more specific, Hero."

In seconds Alfred had him by his god awful scarf, super speed and strength outmatching the other, as usual. “Don’t play fucking games with me.”

Ivan ‘Iceman’ Braginsky laughed, raising a hand that immediately froze Alfred’s wrist as it gripped it, sending alarmed sparks of pain through his system. “You are very foolish.” He said, hardly bothered when Alfred glowered at him. “I won.”

“ _Bullshit_.”

Then, from behind him, a voice spoke up.

"No, he’s quite right."

Alfred released Ivan, no longer caring about the presence of the man as he turned to face the source of that oh-so-familiar accent.

Arthur.

But…

He wasn’t dressed in his slacks and coat or even the ‘jumper’ that he liked to wear around the house.

No, he—…

A black suit, as dark as night, a crisp, white dress shirt, and a tie. Arthur was leaning on an equally dark umbrella, dress shoes shining in the low light. And he was smoking.

He’d never seen Arthur smoke before.

"What’s… going on—?" He found himself saying, his brain unable to put two and two together. Arthur was here— _Arthur was safe!_ —but…

Ivan laughed. “He told you before, yes? He is the Weatherman…”

Arthur looked faintly bored standing there, as if he had somewhere better to be— as if he had somewhere better to be  _than with Alfred_. The Englishman took a drag from his cigarette and tapped it.

"Arthur, you—,"

"It’s true." That voice said, but it didn’t sound like his boyfriend’s—not really. Not as cold and calm and collected as it was. It sounded like someone else. A clone, maybe? An android?

This couldn’t be Arthur, but when those sharp eyes looked up at him, he couldn’t help but believe it if only for that moment, because no one could fake that intricate color.

Those polished shoes made a refined noise against the concrete as they approached, the tall, elegant umbrella following after with a pointed tip. For several seconds the only sound was that of Arthur’s approach,  _clop clop click, clop clop click_ …

Stopping just short of Alfred, he dropped his cigarette and crushed the butt beneath his toe.

A soft hand, cool to the touch, rose to stroke his cheek. Arthur smiled, warm and full of love, and Alfred sank into it, entranced. “You were too easy.” Arthur told him.

No.

Arthur shook his head, retracting his hand. Those green eyes left him, looking away—disappointed. “You are an idiot, Jones. Truly.”

_No_.

Verdant met him again, cold now. Pitying. “I have never loved you.”

“ _Stop it!_ " Alfred yelled, jerking forward to grab Arthur’s collar. To his own shock his fingers met empty air as the image dissolved away. Arthur was gone. A mirage—?

The point of that umbrella pressed into the side of his throat like a blade. “Do not underestimate me,  _Hero_.” Arthur told him, venomous, the weapon receding and meeting the floor with a firm  _click_.

Alfred looked at him, incredulous.

Arthur’s lip quirked. “My mission was to steal your heart.” He leaned forward, studying him with a tinge of mirth. “How did I do?” He whispered.

"No, you’re—," Alfred shook his head, looking back to Ivan—to Iceman. "I don’t know what you did, but I’m not buying it!" The man in the large coat simply smiled at him.

"And why not?" Arthur pressed.

Alfred glowered at him. “You’re not real.” He said firmly. “And if you are, then he’s controlling you somehow. I know you better than that.”

"Do you?" The Englishman said, eyebrows raising with interest. "Delightful, then. Let’s all here it." That smile was broader now. "Tell me how much I love you. Tell me how I whispered sweet things into your ear after I let you fuck me silly. Tell me how you proposed to me over wine and chicken. Tell me how I stole your heart so thoroughly that the idea of it all being a ruse escapes you."

Alfred felt cold as Arthur leaned in and brushed his lips along his cheek. He didn’t smell like cigarettes—he smelled like freshly fallen rain. A kiss caressed his ear.

"Tell me, Hero, how broken you feel right now…"

 

 

No one needed to ask to know that something horrible had happened to Alfred. Text messages, calls, and emails all went unanswered. Knocking at his door only brought about silence. Days turned to weeks, the only reassurance the others had that he was even alive coming in the form of Matthew’s gentle words: “I know he’s okay. I know he’s at home. I’ll get through to him soon, I promise.”

Eventually he actually did.

But information was scarce. Matthew returned to the headquarters looking depressed by his own success. There was a lifelessness in those pale, violet eyes that couldn’t be forged—something was terribly,  _terribly_   wrong.

Of course the secret was spilled eventually, although who, exactly, had first revealed it wasn’t entirely known. Speculation mixed with realization and then, finally, the blond twin’s damning words left them all in a daze:

"Arthur betrayed him. If anyone sees him… know that he’s our enemy."

Nothing more needed to be said after that.

Heroes and villains. They were all just heroes and villains.

The sky continued to cry.  
  
  


 

Matthew met Francis at the door.

"How is he?" The latter murmured, aware of the somber quiet that seemed to emanate from further into the apartment.

Alfred’s brother shook his head. “Not good, I’m afraid…”

"Has there been any progress since last week?" Francis asked, leaning against the door frame. He didn’t need to be told to know that he wasn’t going to be allowed inside. It wasn’t that Alfred would reject him, but… it was better to let him be for now.

Matthew sighed and shook his head again. “No. No, not unless you count him switching video games…”

"I see." Francis took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "We were… thinking of holding a small get together for him. Do you think—,"

"That’s really not a good idea."

Francis blinked. “Are you sure—,”

"Trust me." Matthew said, meeting his inquiring blue eyes with emphatic sunset.

"Okay." Slightly defeated, he wordlessly handed the other man the bag in his hands. "Thank you, Mathieu, for…" He trailed off awkwardly before gesturing to the bag. "Make sure he eats something."

The brother nodded, looking weary but grateful. “I will. Thanks, Francis.”

 

 

It was Gilbert’s lucky night.

"Hey."

Arthur looked up at him, raising a brow. He’d been perched on one of the tallest buildings in the city, so the sudden appearance of the albino appeared to surprise him if only just barely. “Good evening.”

"No, no it’s really not." Gilbert said, casually shrugging as he approached. "You’re kind of a huge asshole, you know that?"

"Hm." Arthur hummed, more interested in his cigarette than in Gilbert’s words. "Am I now? How fascinating."

"So why’d you do it?" The vampire stopped several feet short of the Englishman, grinning with his fangs. It wasn’t a friendly expression. "Money? Power? You go ‘round breaking hearts for fun or some shit? ‘Cause that’s pretty fucking low."

"Interesting." The so-called Weatherman murmured, although Gilbert really wouldn’t be convinced of anything until he saw it. "You turned a little, six-year-old girl and _I’m_ the bad guy?”

Gilbert tensed, “That was—,”

"A mistake of circumstance, yes?" Arthur said, giving him a small smile. "Maybe if you drink enough liquor, you’ll forget the way her blood tasted or how she screamed for ‘mommy’ as you sucked her life dry."

Somehow the vampire found himself pinning Arthur to the roof, having tackled him in a moment he couldn’t clearly remember, yet he startled back as the figure disappeared from underneath him and reappeared a foot away in a glimmer of fog, dusting himself off with a hint of annoyance.

"I led on a man in order to break his spirit, but you broke the body of a young girl." Arthur said acerbically. "Please consider the idea that our circumstances may not differ so greatly as you’ve presumed."

Gilbert rose to his feet but before he could get another word out the other man was gone just like that, disappearing as though he’d never been there at all.

 

 

"What do you think he meant by that?" Elizaveta asked, watching the albino pace the floor. The vampire had been doing it for hours now, stopping every so often to just stare off into space.

"Hell if I know." Gilbert said, not sure if relaying the encounter to her had been a good idea or not. At best, she’d only just ask all the same questions he’d been asking himself for the last two days. "I’m assuming he means that he didn’t want to fucking go and destroy Alfred, but I don’t know if he’s full of shit or not."

"Yeah…" She worried her lip, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as it fell forward into her face. She liked playing match-maker, sure, but how did you put back together broken pieces? And what if they didn’t want to be put back together? Really, she just wished she could smack some sense into the both of them.

Suddenly Gilbert stopped short of his pacing route, looking up. “You know… that guy’s British or something, right?”

"Yes, I would think so." Elizaveta said, not sure what he was getting at.

"Europe’s got those mandated super lists and shit. I’m sure he’d be on one of them, right? If he was there after that one bill went through like ten years ago. So that means there’re records. A paper trail."

The female hero’s eyes lit up. “Oh, wow, you’re right!” And then, “I have a few connections that could help us access those, I think.”

Suddenly Gilbert grinned at her. “I bet if we dig this shit up we can figure out exactly what the fuck’s going on.”

Elizaverta just smiled back broadly, hiding her mouth behind a hand.

"What?" The vampire questioned, frowning at her.

"You care  _a lot_  about Alfred, don’t you?” She asked, mischievous and mirthful. He could just hear the gears turning in her head.

Gilbert exhaled a sigh of disgust and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure.” He said. “Whatever you say.”

"You’re such good friends!"

"Ugh…"

 

 

"Wow, you look like shit."

Alfred gave him an annoyed look, pushing back greasy hair self-consciously. “Whatever. Don’t tell me you came here just to tell me that?”

"As if." Gilbert smirked. He dropped a neat stack of papers onto the floor in front of the other super, the documents held together by a clip.

Looking down at it from where he sat cross-legged, Alfred scowled, pajama-clad, and picked the packet up. “What’s this?”

"A little background check on your boyfriend."

Alfred ‘Hero’ Jones tensed and Gilbert almost felt bad at the way he went more pale than he already was. That nice little tan didn’t seem to keep well when sheltered in his apartment for months.

"Everything you want to know’s in there. We’ve been compiling this for  _weeks_.”

The blond looked up at him, almost pleading. “Why? Why should I care about this stuff?”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “It’s not just his family tree ‘n shit, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just look the fucking thing over.”

Alfred’s eyes slowly met the pages in his hands again. He appeared almost ill as he began to skim them. “I don’t… understand. What am I supposed to get from all this—? What is this supposed to  _prove_ —?”

The vampire was glad he had asked. “It’s supposed to  _prove_  that your little lovebird is trapped in a pretty hefty fucking cage and if you want to get him back you’re going to have to go out there and, you know, be a super ‘n shit and save his little brother.”

Blue eyes looked up at him, wide, probably praying this wasn’t some kind of elaborate joke. “What?” He sounded choked.

"I  _said_ ,” Gilbert began, feeling distinctly triumphant, “if you want to help a little orphan boy get his last remaining relative back out of the hands of the bad guys, then you'd better get your act together and be a hero, Hero.”


	3. Chapter 3

What’s the difference between a civilian, a hero, and a villain?

There isn’t one.

 

 

For the first time in several weeks, Alfred was present at the headquarters, staring down at the photographs spread out over the sheen of a metal table as though the future of the known world relied on their significance. He swallowed, brushed a few old print outs aside, and traced his finger over the grey scale image of a young boy’s face.

"He was such a cute kid." Elizaveta commented, leaning over to stare at the picture. "He looks so innocent."

"Yeah…" Alfred admitted, thumbing the page for a moment before retracting his hand. A much younger Arthur’s face frowned out from the paper, looking slightly annoyed. It fit him so much.

"He could have actually loved you, you know." She pointed out gently. "It might not have  _all_  been a lie.”

Alfred shook his head. “That’s not why I’m doing this.”

"Oh, I know. You’re just doing this from the goodness of your heart, right? A sense of justice? Saving those in danger? Absolutely  _no_  conflict of interest there…” Elizaveta lilted.

He glowered at her.

She patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re human.”

 

 

A hero’s costume is as important as the name that goes with it and the acts with which it is used to perform. Alfred enjoyed the classics—a nice, thick, technologically enhanced spandex suit that fits in all the right places and possibly favorably enhanced some of the others. It was breathable but water-resistant, aerodynamic, and easy to move in.

A hero’s costume was a hero’s life.

But facing down brilliant green eyes, Alfred realized that it couldn’t protect you from everything.

"Arthur, I know why you did what you did." He said firmly. The man had been easy enough to find despite how he’d run— _fled_ —as though the devil were at his heels. “I understand.”

The wind kicked up, howling as it whipped the downpour of rain into Alfred’s face. The city was covered in a thick, angry black cloud. Apparently when you cornered the weather, the weather fought back.

"Stop this, Arthur!" He yelled into the tempest. "I just want to help you! You don’t  _have_  to side with the bad guys!”

The figure in the rain disappeared and for a brief moment he was afraid he’d lost him, but that momentary fear was alleviated when a cool body pressed up against his, Arthur’s face mere inches from his own, looking as dry as could be in his prim and proper suit.

Alfred couldn’t move.

In that moment he realized that his hesitance could have killed him, but instead Arthur leaned forward, their lips brushing as he murmured, “Go home, Hero.”

And then he began to fade, disappearing into a fog meant to whisk him far, far away.

This was it.

Alfred’s arm shot out, latching around Arthur’s half-invisible body in one, sudden motion as his other hand clamped a metal collar around the Englishman’s neck.

Several things happened at once.

Arthur appeared in full, whatever means he was using to vanish suitably interrupted, and his storm ceased, the rain stopping with a sudden and jarring splash as the last drops fell, the clouds immediately beginning to disperse, the liquid soaking the formerly dry, so-called villain.

"You— wha—!"

Alfred just smiled weakly. “I’m not letting you go again, Artie. It’s just not gonna happen.”

 

 

"Your food."

Arthur glowered at the man who pushed a plate through a pocket in the glass, as though he were some animal in a cage, which he sort of was. “Sod off.”

Roderich regarded him coolly. “Pleasant.”

"Yes." Arthur said acerbically. "Prisoners often are, aren’t they?"

For a long minute the dark-haired man stared at the captured villain through the glass, sharp eyes studying behind the sheen of glasses. “He cares about you.”

The ‘Weatherman’ scoffed. “Yes, that was sort of the point of my deception.”

"He wants to help you."

Arthur’s expression turned downright hostile. “What makes him think he  _can_  help me? Yes, because  _being locked up_ ,” his voice reached the volume of a yell, as though Alfred would hear him, which, knowing him, he probably would, “is  _so very_  helpful!”

For a second longer Roderich lingered before shaking his head and muttering, “You are a fool.”

 

 

"Do you think this is really okay?" Francis mused, sipping at a glass of wine. It was a good stress reliever and, well, they all needed quite a bit of that these days.

"Probably not." Matthew admitted, toying with his own glass. He hadn’t drank any yet, however. "Having Arthur here gives him hope. He thinks he can fix things if he just tries hard enough. He’s—… He’s always been like that. When we were kids he thought he could bring back a dog we’d had from the dead if he just  _wished_  hard enough. I don’t know that he ever grew out of that.”

Francis smiled sadly. “This is not so hopeless as that.” He pointed out. “Perhaps Arthur will come around. He is not quite so far gone as to be a… dead dog.”

Matthew shook his head. “I didn’t mean that  _Arthur_  was the dog, Francis.”

 

 

"Hey…" Alfred looked at the figure behind the glass, pressing his hand to the barrier before bowing his head against it. "Arthur, please… Just talk to me, okay? Just for a minute or two?"

The villain, sat in a corner, looked up at him, expression dark.

Crouching down next to the glass, Alfred looked at him, wishing he were closer. “We can save your brother, Arthur. You just have to tell me—,”

"Remove the collar!" Arthur snapped, bristling.

"I can’t. I know that you’ll just—,"

"Then you cannot help me."

Alfred’s hand fisted into a ball as he shook his head, eyes pinched shut. “Arthur, please. We can  _save_  Peter.”

His eyes flew open at the sound of something hitting the glass and widened when they found verdant green glaring out from mere inches away.

Up close he could see the stress, the lack of sleep, the unkempt nature of his hair and clothing. He looked close to insanity and it made Alfred’s heart ache as his throat constricted painfully.

“ _Jones_.” The Englishman growled. “You know  _nothing_  about me, my family, or what I live for.  _I’m evil_. I am as evil as evil can get. Stop trying to save me. Stop trying to help me. You can’t—… You just—,”

Arthur’s voice cracked.

His fist, pressed angrily to the glass, flattened into a palm as be bowed his head.

He was… crying.

"I’m… not a good person, Alfred." Arthur looked up at him, eyes searching his. "I’ve done terrible things— terrible,  _selfish_  things. Stop pretending I haven’t. Stop acting as though I’m  _something worth saving_.”

"I don’t care."

Arthur frowned at him. “What do you mean ‘you don’t care’!? You should care! You’re a hero!”

Alfred smiled wryly at him. “Yeah, but I love you.”

The small trickle of tears turned into a veritable waterfall. Arthur shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. “Which is why I’m in this box…”

"You’re in there so you don’t run away." Alfred said.

Arthur just looked at him, disbelief plain across his face. “You should be condemning me.”

"So?"

"If I escape, I’ll continue to do bad things…"

"Will you come home?"

Arthur stared at him. “What?”

Alfred’s lips twitched. “I find it kind of hard to believe that you faked our relationship. You don’t care? Not even a little bit?”

The villain went quiet, staring down at the flooring of the tank.

"You would have married me but you were afraid because you thought I’d hate who you really are, huh?"

The captured man remained quiet.

Alfred tapped his index finger against the glass. “You always called me an idiot, too, but I think you’re the biggest idiot.”

"You’re enabling me." Arthur said darkly.

"Nah." Alfred laughed. "I’ll still fight you if you try to do bad stuff, just don’t bring any of it home."

"This isn’t a joke, Jones!" He pounded his fist against the glass. "You should attempt to  _kill_  your enemies, not move in with them! How the bloody hell do you expect me to take you seriously if we go home and shag afterwards? This isn’t a game! This isn’t some messed up kind of foreplay!”

Alfred just looked at him. “Why not?”

Arthur scowled. “It doesn’t work that way. It will never work that way.”

The Hero settled down onto the concrete flooring, cross-legged, tracing his finger along the glass. “I want to help you get Peter back.”

"You can’t."

"Why not?"

"You’re a good guy." Arthur said scathingly. "You’re all… all  _legalities_  and— and paperwork. You’re supposed to do what the public thinks is good and if you don’t then they chase you down. You’re a lap dog and a lap dog isn’t going to help me accomplish anything.”

Alfred smiled, earnest blue meeting emotional green. “Okay.” He said softly. “Then, for you, I’ll become a bad guy.”

 

 

"Shit, I ain’t even mad."

Elizaveta shook her head. “Well you should be. He cleared out our entire data base. Kiku’s having a fit.”

Gilbert laughed. “That’s because he had some weird porn shit backed up in one of the files.”

She looked at him dubiously. “Regardless… this doesn’t exactly bode well for our little group.”

"What group?" He challenged. "We haven’t been a group for  _years_. We’re all cliqued up an’ shit. We haven’t been _an actual team_ in years. I mean, what do we do? Stop petty theft? Fight super villains?”

"Yes?" Elizaveta said, not knowing what he was getting at.

"And how many of those _are there_ , right? Villains, I mean? Arthur’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to us in over a year. Iceman’s like impossible as fuck to catch, but he’s hardly around these days. That one guy, what’s-his-face, is in prison for life. Shit, I’m a  _vampire_  and there’re more people hunting  _me_  than there are people for the little ‘Super Seven’ to go and fight. Who cares if it’s the Super  _Six_? We’re done. We’re over. We’re getting older and who’s gonna warm our beds if we’re out all night looking for crime that doesn’t even exist?”

Elizaveta stared at him, shocked. “Gil…”

Gilbert just shook his head. “Alfred’s a good guy. He’s always been a good guy. And yeah, okay, so maybe he snapped. Whatever. But whether he says he’s good or bad that doesn’t matter in the end if he’s miserable, right? So he chose to be bad and in love. But you fucking know as well as I do that that shit’s just a label. Any one one of us could be painted a villain if the media wanted us gone. Why should it matter that he’d go and chose it for himself?”

"I know it’s romantic, Gilbert, but it’s not right!" She protested.

He smiled at her. “And that’s where you’re mixed up, because none of the shit we’ve done’s ever been  _objectively_  right.”

 

 

"You know, I have never been in a super villain’s home before." Francis commented lightly, looking around Alfred’s apartment. "It looks very similar to a certain super hero’s apartment."

Alfred laughed. “What did you expect?”

Francis gestured vaguely, “More… black? Perhaps a crocodile or two in the foyer?”

The so-called hero-turned-villain laughed again before brightening. “Oh! I have something for you!” And with that he disappeared deeper into the apartment, which Francis took as an invitation to follow after.

He stopped once he met the living room, however, his gaze meeting that of green eyes.

Rather, green eyes accompanied by a scowl, a ripped band t-shirt, black boxers, and fairly attractive lean legs, glowering up at him as though challenging him to question his presence. Francis just silently raised a brow.

"Here it is!" Alfred said upon returning, handing the man a drive. "I know Kiku’s probably had, like, ten panic attacks by now, but here’s all the data back. Sorry I took it, but I was kinda in a hurry and I cut it all instead of copied, so…"

Francis was quite certain that that wasn’t how it worked, but he nodded, pocketing the device with the strange feeling that there wasn’t something entirely right about all this. Villains weren’t supposed to go and fix problems that they’d caused. That was a job for heroes. “That is… very kind of you, Alfred.”

Arthur snorted.

For a moment there was an awkward silence, the only sound that of a page turning when Arthur wet his tongue to thumb forward in his novel.

"So… villainy? How is it?" Francis asked.

"It’s alright." Alfred said, looking wry. "I mean, I don’t think saving animals from trees is really all that  _evil_ , but uh…”

"That was _one_  time!” Arthur suddenly piped up, defensive and blushing red.

Alfred raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You’re very evil. You’re the  _evilest_.”

Arthur gave him a look for the patronizing comment but returned to his novel. Francis wasn’t entirely surprised when it started to rain lightly. Either the little Weatherman’s mood dictated the weather or he was just trying to make a point. He almost wondered if it was really just the former.

"Anyway, thanks for dropping by Francis, but we’re kinda busy this afternoon."

"Oh, it is not a problem. It is good to see that you are well." He told Alfred, not entirely lying either. The boy looked healthier than he had in ages. Lively, vibrant… Certainly nothing like the shell he had been mere months ago. "I will send along the data to Kiku. I am sure you will receive a message back regarding it, knowing him."

Alfred grinned. “Awesome! Thanks!”

 

 

"I don’t think Alfred’s really capable of being evil." Matthew admitted one night. The Super Six were playing cards—it was game night, naturally—and this gained the attention of the other five around the table.

For a moment there was silence before Kiku nodded. “I am inclined to agree.”

"I’m not sure about Arthur." The twin continued on to say.

"It’s grief." Gilbert explained with a shrug.

"Well, yes, but is he _evil_  or not is the question…” Elizaveta said, frowning.

"The rain has cleared up lately." Roderich pointed out, staring down at his hand as he organized his cards.

"Yes, but did Alfred tell him yet, I wonder?" Mused Francis.

The table was quiet for a thoughtful moment.

The subject was quickly dropped.

 

 

"Arthur, sweetheart, what are you doing up this late—?" Alfred murmured affectionately, leaning over the back of the chair to wrap his arms around his boyfriend.

No, not boyfriend. Not anymore.

Fiancé.

Arthur tensed before relaxing at the sudden embrace. “Hacking.” He mumbled, sounding somewhat guilty, as though Alfred would tell him to stop.

"Hacking what?"

Arthur made a vague noise in his throat and shrugged.

"Come to bed…"

"I need to finish this, Alfred."

"Come to bed soon?"

"… I’ll try."

Alfred kissed his hair before ruffling it, leaving him to his own devices.

 

 

"You have to tell him, Al."

"I know! I know I do, I just…"

"Alfred, this _isn’t_  okay. You  _need_  to tell him.”

"I said I know!" Drawing a hand through his hair, he looked at his brother from behind his bangs. "This isn’t easy— _believe me_. I’ve been… trying to bring it up.”

Matthew looked skeptical.

Alfred grimaced. And then, “It’s… it’s not easy, Matt. I can’t just… His  _whole life_  has been about this one thing and I—,”

"You _have_  to tell him.”

Alfred was quiet. “I’m… afraid, okay? He gave up so much for Peter. Fuck, he  _lives_ for him now. He blames himself for his… ‘kidnapping’.”

"You have to tell him, Al. This can’t wait any longer." Matthew urged. "Peter’s dead. It isn’t fair to keep that from him."

Alfred swallowed, looking up at his brother with what could only be described as fear. “I know but… you know what he’s like. What if this—… what if this breaks him?”

"Alfred." Matthew said, leaning forward to grip his brothers arm. "He needs a chance to heal."

"I know, Matt. I know…"


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey Arthur, I have something I need to tell you…"

"No," His fiancé interrupted, grinning at him from across the living room as though he’d just been waiting for him to get home, "I have something to tell  _you_.”

Alfred felt déjà vu. “Oh, uh… What?”

"I’ve found Peter."

 

 

Alfred loved Arthur. He really, _really_  did. Some days he loved him so much that it hurt. Getting him back had been best day of his life. Maybe it was a little crazy, but they’d fallen into bed together like long lost lovers, dragging sheets and blankets along as they kissed and tore each other’s clothing off. Arthur’s body had been splayed beneath him, voice keening as his body sang in the dim light.

And so it was with that love that he watched him survey the city’s skyline, London sprawled out beneath them in a glimmering array of night lights under a murky sky.

"What’re you looking for, sweetheart?" He asked, leaning against the other man who was all serious suit and hard-lined face, brows pulled together in thought.

Arthur pushed him off, coming close to rolling his eyes. “I’m looking for my contact.”

"Your contact?" Alfred repeated, amused.

“ _Yes_.” Arthur reaffirmed, suitably annoyed.

Since they’d arrived in England some of the Weatherman’s contacts had ended up being things Alfred couldn’t see, but was very much assured were there, so it was sort of his right to be a bit skeptical about anyone Arthur called a ‘contact’. The Englishman called them faeries—Alfred called them lack of sleep.

Arthur’s gaze returned to the streets as he waited, silent and patient, and Alfred loved him so he waited too, no matter how in vain.

 

 

They were standing over the North Sea.

Well, no, that wasn’t quite right.  _Arthur_  was standing over it, feet dug into what appeared to be small clouds as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Alfred was flying—or, technically, hovering—and regretting his choice of jeans and a hoody as the chilled air kicked up at him and whistled in his ears.

"This can’t be right…" Arthur muttered, rubbing at his chin.

Alfred watched him, leaning in to ask, “So… dead lead then?”

Arthur gave him a scathing look. “Well he can’t very well be living in the ocean. Boy wasn’t merfolk, lad.” He chided him.

Alfred wasn’t sure whether or not the mention of sea people was a joke. Knowing his fiancé, there was a very real possibility that it wasn’t.

They stared down at the sea in silence for a minute.

"Are you, uh…  _sure_  you were misinformed?” Alfred asked.

"Yes!" Arthur looked annoyed at him, scowling. "He’s _clearly_  not here, Alfred, unless you think they meant to say he was located in a near vessel, but then they would have specified. This is obviously the wrong place.”

Alfred leaned back a little and worried his lip, releasing it only to say, “Okay.”

His fiancé dragged a hand through his hair with a sigh and the ex-hero idly noted that the clouds in the sky were turning a darker grey.

"Arthur?" Alfred said lightly, feeling his stomach knot. He’d followed him here with good intentions, he’d thought, watching the other man piece together this and that, watching him trail scattered bread crumbs that’d been swept up and beaten by the wind.

He loved Arthur.

He loved him enough to tell him the truth.

 

 

"You’re absolutely  _sure_  that you know where Peter is?” Arthur asked him for fifth time in a little over half an hour, looking as suspicious as he had when Alfred had first mentioned it.

“ _Yes_.” Alfred assured him, smiling weakly although the gesture didn’t meet his eyes.

"Because you know I’ve been searching for  _ages_  and I just don’t see how you could up and find him when I’ve been—,”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. But just… trust me, okay?”

Arthur rolled his shoulders forward in his nice coat, sulking a little as they walked. They weren’t in the city anymore now—no, they were in a little country town, staying at some sort of cozy bed and breakfast like the civilians that little, old couple thought they were.

Turning off the main road, Alfred started down the grass towards a tall, iron gate.

Arthur lingered, staring after him.

"C’mon, slowpoke." Alfred told him, stopping to look back.

"Alfred, that’s a cemetery." Arthur said darkly, glaring at him now.

Casting a short look at the path before him, Alfred gave him a nod. “Yeah. And?”

Arthur’s brow knit. “Why would he be here?”

Alfred almost felt bad about how dense a person could be, especially one that always insisted on calling  _him_  the idiot. “Dunno. Maybe you should follow me instead of asking questions.”

The previously soft blue sky with a speckling of white fluffy clouds started to grey over as Arthur started after him, offering nothing more than a subdued silence as he trailed behind.

For a time, neither of them said anything, but Alfred could practically  _feel_  the way Arthur was looking around the place, eyes studying the sturdy headstones not for names but for their very existence, as though they had the answer as to why he was here. Eventually Alfred veered off of the main path and Arthur continued after him, footsteps slow and idle.

Alfred stopped in front of a modest, flat headstone set in crisply cut, green grass.

And then he waited.

Arthur was silent for a full, agonizing minute before he finally said, “Well, good job. You found someone with the same name. Brilliant work, Alfred.” His words were dry, unimpressed—almost bitter—and Alfred turned to look at him, having expected something like this.

"When was Peter born, Arthur?"

"It’s clearly a coincidence, Alfred, you don’t know that—,"

"Arthur, when did Peter go missing?"

Green eyes glared at him and the sky turned dark. “He’s not  _dead_ , Alfred.”

Alfred took a breath and pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket, the item folded into a square. He opened it and handed it to Arthur.

Angry verdant eyes scanned the words on the page. “Rubbish.” He spat. “Complete and utter rubbish. Peter isn’t  _dead_. I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, but—,”

"Peter _is_ dead, Arthur." Alfred said, looking at him sadly. "He’s always been dead."

Arthur glared at him. “ _No_.” He said tensely. “He has  _not_. He was  _kidnapped_ —,”

"You say, but he wasn’t. He drowned ten years ago. You know this. You were there."

“ _No!_ " Arthur yelled, a crack of lightning and a flare of thunder jolting the sky at once. "He’s still alive! I  _know_  he’s still alive!” Those brilliant eyes looked wild and frantic—cornered—and the shorter man began to rip the piece of paper into shreds.

Alfred watched him, not even bothering to stop him. It was too… perfect, really. He was destroying the paper just like he’d destroyed the memories. “Arthur…”

"No! You’re _wrong_ , Alfred. Apologies, but you’ve wasted your time bringing us out here.”

"Arthur…"

"What!? What, Alfred? What do you want me to say!? Peter’s not dead!" Arthur stomped his foot in protest. "He’s not!"

At this rate, Alfred didn’t even need to say anything.

"He was kidnapped!" The man insisted, stalking forward to grab the front of his jacket, shaking him. Alfred let him. "He’s still alive! Iceman said— Iceman said he knew where he was! That’s why he offered me a position, you idiot. I just had to work off the years and then he’d tell me where he was!"

"Did he?" Alfred said quietly, already knowing the answer.

Arthur scowled. “Well, no. He buggered off to Russia after that little stint with your group, but he sent me leads. He told me where to look. He gave me as much information as there was to give at the time! He has a lot of connections, you see, and—”

"Didn’t he say he knew where Peter was, though?" Alfred pointed out gently, reaching up to grip Arthur’s trembling hands where they were buried into the fabric of his clothing.

"Well, yes, but once I’d worked hard enough to earn that information he— he’d gone off to somewhere else!"

"Arthur…"

The man in question shook him again. “He’s not bloody well  _dead_ , Alfred! That’s stupid!”

He was breaking now though.

His voice had cracked.

"Arthur, I’m sorry…"

"No!" The Englishman yelled, shattering the peace of the cemetery. "No, no, no, no!"

"Arthur." Alfred murmured, drawing him up to look at him.

Dry green eyes stared into his sky blue for all of one second before they started to tear up. “He’s  _not_ …” Arthur protested weakly. “He’s—…”

"I have the records of the incident. I have photographs. I have archived testimonies. I have your psychiatrist’s file. I have your doctor’s file. I know  _everything_ , Arthur. I know everything and it’s not your fault, okay? I don’t think anyone sat you down and said that, but it’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”

The posh villain in the green pea coat crumpled against him and the sky opened up and bathed the land in tears.

 

 

"The weather has been pleasant this week." Kiku said gently as he fitted Francis’ suit with an update to his stealth mode.

"Yes." The Frenchman drawled, smiling slightly. "Our little lovebirds are on vacation right now."

"I see." The fox murmured, ears twitching. "They are abroad?"

"England." Francis supplied, stretching out his arm when Kiku released it and closing up the panel, once more hiding his internal circuitry from the world.

Dark eyes glimmered at him knowingly. “They are having a nasty storm in London, are they not?”

"Oh, just the worst in ten years or so…"

 

 

Arthur was drunk again.

He’d been drunk a lot after the… news. Alfred couldn’t quite say for sure that he’d come to accept it as the truth, but that didn’t change the fact that every evening he’d buy a bottle or, hell, go out on the town, and by the end of the night he was stumbling over himself drunk and passing out on the hotel bed.

Naturally Alfred was beginning to get worried.

Oh, he’d go with him, of course, making sure he didn’t drink too much, vaguely impressed with how well the man held his liquor. He didn’t have to worry about alcohol poisoning so much, considering he always started vomiting the moment he pushed himself from drunk to too drunk and Alfred never let him drink so fast that he’d ignore that line. He wasn’t even worried about his general safety considering Arthur could hold his own in a fight or against an oncoming car, turning to mist or rain depending on what he favored at the given moment, and sustaining absolutely no damage.

He was just worried about _Arthur_.

The gleam of engagement rings in the low lighting of a pub wasn’t a romantic scene, but Alfred tolerated it, if only because his presence distracted Arthur from his own thoughts, allowing him to talk on and on about this or that, as long as it had nothing to do with him, his past, or his little brother.

Leaving him alone, however, resulted in tears. And not the good, venting kind of tears, but the quiet, sobbing for hours at a time before lapsing into numb silence and dead eyes kind of tears.

Honestly, Alfred wasn’t really sure which was better for him.

 

 

"I don’t know what to do, Matt."

"Well, I don’t know what to tell you." His brother said, voice quiet on the other end of the phone. "I mean, it seems like he’s accepted that what you said was the truth, right? So at least there’s that…"

Alfred sighed. “Maybe I should have let him keep believing it though, y’know? Maybe I should have… let him come to terms with it on his own.”

"No, Al, that’d be terrible." Matthew protested. "It’s been  _ten years_  already. I don’t think he was ever going to… well…”

"Yeah…" Alfred sighed again, looking out at the foggy morning through the window of their hotel room. Arthur was asleep—dead to the world. It was the only time the city got reprieve from his powers.

"Just be there for him." His brother said gently. "That’s all you can do right now."

 

 

Alfred woke up to Arthur humming.

He sat up, rubbing at his eyes as the early afternoon sun splashed the room with light.

For a moment he thought that he was dreaming until he pinched himself and found that it hurt.

"You’re, uh… awful cheerful this morning." Alfred said slowly, not sure what to make of the sudden shift in mood. "Feeling better, I take it—?"

"Indeed." Arthur said, turning to offer him an embarrassed smile.

And then,

"I’m really very sorry for all of the trouble I’ve caused you over the past week. I know you didn’t plan on staying here this long, so I’ve taken the liberty of packing up our things. We can be back home by the end of the day, if you would like."

Alfred stared at him for a long moment, brow furrowed. “Are you… _sure_  you’re alright? I mean, the uh… I know how hard it is on you and I don’t want you to…”

"It’s quite alright." Arthur assured him. Warm green turned apologetic again. "I… I think I always knew… deep, deep down. I knew what had happened. So… realizing that took a little bit of an adjustment." And then he smiled. "But I feel a lot better now."

Alarm bells were going off in Alfred’s head but he wasn’t sure why exactly. Standing, he crossed the room in his pajamas and pulled his fiancé into a tight hug, feeling his body in his arms and smelling the scent of freshly fallen rain that lingered in his hair.

Releasing him, he knew with one hundred percent certainty that this was, in fact, Arthur.

"You’re affectionate today…" The smaller man commented softly, looking up at him with a sweet gaze.

Alfred felt himself smile back, pulling him into a tight hug, lifting him up, and spinning him.

Arthur yelped which turned into an agitated bark laughter.

Setting him down again, Alfred nuzzled the side of his face. “I’m just, damn it… I’m just  _glad_ , okay? I’m so glad you’re alright. I was so worried and I just…”

"Sh, sh… It’s okay." Arthur told him, those dexterous fingers sifting through his hair. "I’m glad you showed me the truth." Cool lips kissed the side of his jaw. "Now I no longer need to be a villain. And you can go back to working as a hero…"

"I’m just glad you’re okay." He repeated, not really caring what any of this meant for his future career. He squeezed Arthur tight again. "I love you."

"I love you, too." His fiancé replied, those delicate fingers slipping free of his hair. "I love you more than anything, so never forget that, alright?"


	5. Chapter 5

The plane ride home was fairly pleasant, Alfred thought.

He listened to music and Arthur slept and they arrived ‘across the pond’ at a good ol’ five plus hours, getting home and into bed at four in the morning. It wasn’t necessarily a happy trip, but it felt like there was some kind of closure to it. Arthur was quiet and withdrawn but every time they spoke he seemed happy— happier than he’d been in a long while.

It made Alfred’s heart ache to know what he had gone through—what he was _still_ going through—but he wanted to be there for him. He wanted to help him through this however he could.

He figured his first order of business would be to get his hero status back.

Easier said than done.

 

 

"You cannot simply rejoin, Alfred-san." Kiku said stiffly, looking fairly disapproving. "You publicly became a villain."

"Well, yeah, but it’s not like I ever did anything  _bad_.”

The fox’s ear twitched. “You aided in criminal activity.” He corrected. “Whether or not you are aware of what you did, Weatherman was working with Iceman and you protected him from other groups, you protected him from us, and therefore you have partaken in criminal activity.”

Alfred ‘Hero’ Jones pouted. “Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that, Kiku…”

"Alfred-san!"

The man in question snapped to attention.

"You have chosen Arthur-san over your teammates. If you wish to return, you may have to forfeit your relationship with him, which is something you clearly do not wish to do, therefore I am sorry. While you are still my friend, you are no longer a hero in our eyes, nor in the eyes of the people." Kiku took a breath. "So please leave my laboratory before you complicate matters further by being on private property."

 

 

"Can you believe that!?" Alfred said, pacing. "Then he told me to leave! Just like that! We’ve worked together for  _years_  and this is how he treats me? I mean, yeah, okay so I became ‘evil’ for a little while but—,”

"You’re about as evil as a golden retriever puppy." Arthur filled in for him.

"Yeah!" Alfred said before blinking owlishly. " _Hey_ —!”

Arthur watched him pace, frowning. “I’m… sorry.” He finally said, looking down at his lap where he was sat on the couch. “This is my fault.”

"Hey now, it’s okay…" Alfred said, plopping down next to him and pulling him over to nuzzle at his neck. "I’d do it all over again just for you. You know that."

The Englishman smiled at him weakly. “I know.”

"So don’t you go blaming yourself. I mean, technically they could have you as a hero too, but they’re too stubborn to snag a good thing when they see it…"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably and then shook his head. “I understand that you are… good. You’ve always  _been_  good. However I am not like you. I am bad. I have always _been_ bad. But,” he looked up at Alfred, “I no longer need to be a villain. And for that I am grateful. Yet I don’t think you  _need_  a group to be a hero. For starters, you’re  _my_ hero.”

Alfred flushed at the cheesy sentiment, pulling his fiancé into a hug. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

The other man laughed. “Neither can I.”

 

 

"So what are you going to do now?"

"Now?" Alfred asked, looking at the vampire. "Dunno. I guess I’ll do solo hero work. I mean, I gotta do something right? I don’t exactly have a lot to fall back onto…"

"You’ve got a cover job, don’t you?" Gilbert asked, drinking generously from his pint as the bar hummed around them.

"Well, yeah, but it’s pretty boring—paperwork stuff, y’know. I’d go nuts if I was cooped up every night."

"Mm. Point."

For a moment there was silence as the two men contemplated their lives over their choice of alcoholic beverage.

"You know, Iceman’s back in town again. Been popping up a bit here and there although we’re keeping quiet on that information. Shit’s gonna go down though. He’s planning something big—I can feel it."

Alfred looked at him, eyes wide. “Any idea what it is?”

"No clue. Just something big. Lots of money and lots of corruption. The roots are fucking  _deep_. As much as no one wants to admit it, we need you and your little boy toy on our side. It’s a PR disaster, but know that not everyone’s so strong on the whole ‘not taking you back’ thing. Liz’ got it in her head that even Weatherman can be reformed…”

Knocking back the rest of his rum and coke, Alfred exhaled a relieved sigh. “Good. I’m… I’m glad. Arthur’s taking the whole dead brother thing pretty well and, I mean… he’s convinced he’s beyond saving but I don’t think so…”

"We’re all souls bound for hell in one way or another." Gilbert said grimly. "Just a matter of the crimes you commit that get you there."

 

 

Elizaveta looked around, the handle of the mace resting against her shoulder. “Things haven’t really changed here, huh?”

Arthur set down a tray of tea—she was a guest, after all, no matter how inconvenient—and looked up at her. “What did you expect?”

"Hm… More  _evil_ , I suppose.” She admitted. “Maybe some of those big screens meant for looking at all your bad guy plans.”

"You forget that I have seen the inside of your base. You have large screens as well." Arthur pointed out politely, pouring two cups before fixing his own.

She sat down on the sofa opposite him and he found himself wondering how she fought in what appeared to be a long dress. Wouldn’t it get in the way?

"Alfred’s not here at the moment." He told her for the third time.

"What if I didn’t come to visit Alfred?" She asked, setting down her mace, which glowed momentarily before it was leaned up against the cushion, the object appearing to weigh nothing at all now if the indent in the fabric was any indication.

"To what do I owe the honor—?" He muttered dryly.

Elizaveta picked up her tea, sniffed it curiously, and took a sip. “We don’t trust you.” She informed him.

"I never asked you to." Arthur replied.

"He loves you, though."

Arthur stared at her, frowning.

She returned the look. “So help me if you break that poor boy again. You almost did it once and I honestly don’t know how well he’s been put back together, but Alfred’s not a toy for you to play with. You know that right?”

The so-called Weatherman’s gaze drifted down to his tea. He could just barely make out his reflection in the liquid.

Elizaveta huffed at the silence.

Arthur looked up at her, expression serious. “I know what I have done and I am aware that there is nothing I could ever hope to do that might make it better.”

For some reason she’d expected a  _'but…_ ' to follow, but felt strangely out of her element when none did. Arthur just looked at her, earnest, not even bothering to make an excuse for himself, so she simply nodded. “Well, okay then.”

"You don’t believe me." Arthur stated.

"It doesn’t matter what I do and don’t believe." She told him, frowning. "What matters is what _you_  do.”

"I know."

For a moment there was silence.

Arthur looked up at her. “Thank you.”

At first Elizaveta said nothing, but eventually she took the bait. “For what?”

"For caring about Alfred."

Olive eyes bored into verdant, analyzing the former villain. “Of course.” She said. “He’s my friend.”

Arthur just smiled softly. “I’m really glad he has friends like you to support him.”

 

 

"Something is wrong." Francis muttered tapping his fingers against the table, feet kicked up onto the sheen of metal.

Roderich regarded him, frowning for not the first time at the Frenchman’s feet. “Please keep the area clear.” He chided.

Francis relented, but only because he was staring off vacantly at the middle distance, too preoccupied to care about the cleanliness of the headquarters’ meeting table. “Something is going to happen soon…”

"Yes." Roderich said, sarcasm thick. "It’s going to rain."

 

 

"Alfred…" Arthur murmured, pressing up against his fiancé. They were naked in bed together, the night outside the window not so much dark as a cloud-covered grey, the blankets twined around them, bodies coated in a fine sweat. "I love you."

Alfred chuckled. “I love you too.” He told him, pressing a light kiss to the other man’s forehead. Sweet nothings after a healthy round of sex was one of his favourite things. Arthur always curled up to him, affectionate, threading talented fingers through his hair over and over until he was soothed into a quiet lull. It was bliss.

"I want to marry you." Arthur continued.

Alfred hummed. “I want to marry you too.”

"I want for you to achieve all of your dreams."

Blue eyes opened, blinking at deep green in the low light. “What’s all of this now?” He asked gently, rubbing circles into his fiancé’s arm. “You’re being sweet.”

Arthur smiled at him. “I want you to be happy.” He said.

"I want you to be happy too…" Alfred returned.

Arthur pressed a kiss to his lips and murmured, “I’m glad.”

 

 

"Brother, what are you doing?"

Ivan looked at his sister, expression blank for a long moment before his lips curled into a small smile that never reached his pale violet eyes. “I am building a machine.” He said with a quiet sort of pride, pen frozen in mid air over a stack of pages and schematics.

Katyusha worried her lip. “What… will it do, brother?”

"It will make the world a better place."

"A better place?" She repeated, surprised, but there was a cautious wariness to it. She worried her lip again. "How so?"

"You will see soon." He told her warmly. When she lingered, he looked up at her again. "It is a device that will usurp redemption from the gods."

Katyusha didn’t ask any further questions on the matter.

 

 

"What is this?" Kiku asked quietly, carefully inspecting the hard drive as though he could determine its contents based on sight alone. It seemed his laboratory was receiving many once-villains these days as guests…

"All of the data I could mine from Iceman’s computers remotely." Arthur said.

The fox nearly dropped the object in his shock, ears stiff as the fur of his tails bristled. “W- what—?”

Arthur nodded. “I want to entrust this to you. I know how valuable something like this might be to your cause and I don’t have the time to go through it myself.”

Kiku frowned. “What do you mean you don’t have the time—?”

For a moment the Weatherman simply stared at the Silver Fox, but it seemed he needn’t say a thing.

"You don’t mean…"

"I don’t have any other choice." Arthur said simply. "My hand has been forced."

Kiku stared at him. The fox’s hands briefly shook before he stilled them. “I understand.”

"Thank you."

The dark-haired man’s head jerked up to look at him directly, expression crossing into distraught. “If you fail—…”

"I know… but I have to try." Arthur nodded at the drive. "If you look in there, you’ll understand."

 

 

_'Arthur… You look so sad… What is wrong, Arthur? What is wrong?'_

_'Your little brother is out there. He's alive. They lied to you in that building. They wanted you to believe that_ you _had done it. They wanted you to believe that your powers were bad things…’_

_'They're good things— oh, such good things, Arthur! You can control the weather! Imagine the possibilities. You can force planes to circle for hours with no ground. You can submerge ships in storms. You can flood cities. You can do so much Arthur, so much, and they want to lock you away…'_

_'You're a bad child, Arthur.'_

_'Bad children must be punished, you know that right?'_

_'You didn't follow my orders, did you?'_

_'Do you want to go back to the facility, Arthur?'_

_'Obey me and your brother will be safe. I cannot control it, you see, but those above me… Yes… We're in the same situation, You and I…'_

_'Trust me, Arthur.'_

_'Hero is our enemy. We must destroy him at any cost…'_

_'He stands for all that is wrong with this world.'_

_'Kill him.'_

_'Kill him or I will kill you both.'_

_'What do you mean no?'_

_'You will regret this.'_

_'You will regret betraying me, Arthur.'_

 

 

It was raining.

Arthur stared down at the sleeping form of his fiancé, brushing the man’s bangs out of his face. Leaning in, he kissed his temple, emotion swelling up in his chest when Alfred made a pleased noise and snuggled into his pillow.

"I’m glad." He whispered to no one, tears wetting his face. "I’m so glad I fell in love with someone like you."

He slipped off of the bed, but not before pulling an envelope out of the bedside table’s drawer, kissing the seal and placing it on his own pillow. He worked off his ring and carefully balanced it on top of the letter, affixing it to the paper with a small string so that it wouldn’t slip off.

Leaning back, his vision was clouded and he rubbed at an eye, forcing his breathing even as he gave Alfred one last look.

"I love you." He told the sleeping man.

Arthur took a steadying breath.

"I’ll protect you this time, Alfred. I promise."

And then he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur peered up at the sky and wondered for not the first time if maybe he wasn’t the one controlling it— if maybe it was all some strange coincidence that the clouds were parting, the rising sun shining through and lining the surviving shapes with a soft glow that was hard to ignore. He wasn’t used to sunrises that gleamed across the sky, as any time he was awake this early he was usually in a particularly foul mood and therefore so was the weather.

But now the sky shone in strips of gorgeous violet and golden warmth. His chest felt light as he stepped across open air over the city, a mist of morning fog obscuring him from the vision of those below.

His suit was pressed, once-comfortable clothes feeling strange on his form now. They didn’t fit him anymore, even though they were tailored to fit as well as anything else might. The stark blacks and whites were foreign to him; things just weren't that simple, were they?

Stepping down towards land, he took a breath of the cool air, almost fragrant despite the city’s smog. He wondered if the forests and cobblestone of his home would have held a better scent, but that was nostalgia—a rose tint on a corrupted childhood, mired in self-loathing and depression. Whether or not there had been pleasant aspects was irrelevant, really.

His feet met concrete and he took notice of the lapping waves that splashed the nearby pier, the rush of water pressing against the man made shore, reminding him why he was here.

He smiled softly at it—fondly—before turning his attention to the looming door, hand meeting cold metal as he pushed it open and vanished into the building’s depths.

What a beautiful day it was.

 

 

_'Dear Alfred,_

_Please don’t jump to conclusions, as I know you surely will my dear. I have left my engagement ring in your care for the time being for it will be safer with you than where I am going._

_I am not sure that I ever revealed this, but now is as good a time as any, I suppose. Our first meeting was by chance, not by design. I fell in love with your eyes, for they are the color of a sky I rarely see. When you shoved me out of the way of the car, for a moment all I saw was your sky blue, and I couldn't look away. Yet I knew not who you were or what you were until a month later, when Iceman told me._

_But I loved you already. Thoroughly. You had ruined me, but now you stood in between me and my brother. I tried to harden myself to you, but I simply couldn't. I was ordered to destroy you however I saw fit, but in my weakness I could never manage the violent acts Iceman hinted at. When you proposed I fled, not because I didn't want to marry you, but because I had lied to you and you deserved better._

_Yet Iceman was happy with what I had done to you and I must confess that I had never hated myself more than in those months we were apart._

_I believe that I always knew my brother was well and truly dead, but I do not know why I kept searching for him. As you by now know, I killed him. I have always been told that it was my fault, but you were the first to say otherwise._

_Thank you._

_I have never been a good guy and I understand that good intentions are not enough to overcome the years of evil I have carried out blindly and obediently, but you allowed me some hope and now I must return the favour._

_Iceman has been constructing a machine with which to kill you, for he bears some grudge, the origin of which I do not know. However, what I do know is this: he will not have you so long as I can help it._

_I am not stronger than him, Alfred. You and I both know this. However if he uses this device on you, nor will you be._

_So I will protect you this time._

_I didn't believe I was capable of good, but in this I have found peace of mind. Iceman may not perish by my hand, but I hope I might pave the way for others. I will do my best._

_By the time you have read this, it will be too late to stop me._

_I love you, Alfred._

_If it comes to pass that I do not survive this, then I just want you to know that my answer is yes. “I do.”_

_Forever yours,_   
_Arthur Kirkland’_

 

 

"Do you believe in God?"

Kiku’s ears pricked, eyes drifting over to meet the bright red of Gilbert’s. “Do  _you_?” He queried back gently.

"I really wish that I did." The vampire admitted.

 

 

Alfred crashed into the headquarters bodily, movements clumsy and erratic, his suit on and his glasses off wherever they seemed to disappear to whenever he decided that he wanted to look like a hero. The room was empty, quiet, and he wasn’t sure why he expected it to be anything else. It was a Tuesday morning—of course they weren't here. But that didn't stop the painful thudding in his chest.

“ _Hello!_ " He called, his voice echoing off the plated walls, the familiar machinery, the enormous screen. Florescent lighting made the room shimmer in its silence, as though mocking him. " _Is anyone here—?_ ”

He swallowed, stumbling forward.

Someone had to be here—  _anyone_. He didn't have access to the machines anymore. He had to find—

"Are you looking for Arthur, Alfred-san?" Kiku inquired softly, the fox seemingly appearing from nowhere.

Hero felt his heart jump into his throat. “ _Kiku_ —! Oh thank god!”

"You are late." The dark-haired man said, not meeting his eyes. Raising his wrist, he tapped a sequence of keys into what looked like a watch. A band on Alfred’s arm lit up. "I could not reactivate your device remotely, unfortunately, but I have sent you the coordinates of Arthur’s location. The others should be on their way there now, but knowing you, you will arrive faster than—,"

A gust of air and Alfred was gone.

"— them."

 

 

A warehouse. It was  _always_  a warehouse. Alfred should have known—he should have been smarter than that! But no, he couldn't have guessed. He didn't have that sort of power. The blue sky shouldn't have worried him as much as it did, but it did. It was joyous and clear and beautiful and it was so,  _so_  wrong.

He found the location— the entrance— the main room— and within moments a door ajar that led to some kind of basement. No one else was here. It was quiet. The darkness radiated around him like a fog before he was plunged into light at the sound of something heavy and metal falling into place.

He had hoped— oh,  _he had hoped_. Arthur was powerful. He was more powerful than he truly believed.

Yet that didn't change the fact that Iceman was grinning at him—beaming at him from across the expanse of underground space, teeth shining as white as snow, egotistical, confident.

_Happy_.

His stomach churned in knots.

“ _Where’s Arthur!?_ " He yelled with more conviction than he felt. He wanted to scream at him. He wanted to cry. He wanted to strangle that sadistic grin right off of his fucking face until he turned as pale as his iconic scarf.

Ivan laughed, the noise booming—overwhelming. It was uncharacteristic and chilling and he had to fist his hand to keep it from shaking.

“ _Where is he!?_ " He repeated, all of the anger, the worry, the concern he felt surging up like a wave.

His reply was merely laughter.

In seconds he had Iceman pinned up against a steel wall, the material crumpling under the force yet creaking as it froze, closer to shattering than it was to bending. Half of Ivan’s face had been demolished by the blow, but that meant nothing as it reformed, first as frost and then as flesh.

Those eyes, always so dimly lit— _so lifeless_ —glimmered at him with an emotion that Alfred had never before.

"How do you feel now, Hero?" Iceman wheezed, that manic grin never leaving his face. "You are happy, yes? Happy someone could love you so much, yes?"

Alfred pulled him back and slammed him once again into the steel behind him, the wall giving an achy groan, whatever half-concocted invention it was was taking the brunt of the damage. “ _Where is he Ivan!?_  I will kill you— I will  _really kill you_  if you’ve hurt him! Where is he? Tell me!”

"You want to know where he is—?" Iceman crooned mockingly. "It is quite the sight, Hero. I promise you, you have never seen anything like this before…"

“ _Where—!?_ " Alfred yelled, pushing him harder into the wall.

For all of a second Ivan choked, voice a strained wheeze as he smiled and managed a breathy, “Let me show you…”

Alfred relented, if only because he gestured a direction, dragging the man along with him as he followed his guide through the maze of equipment, like a mouse in an experiment, until they met what appeared to be some kind of impressive, overdone laser gun, the machine dripping and sparking, the damage that had been done to it more than obvious.

"Is it not beautiful, Hero? It was only used once, but it is such a magnificent creation, yes?" Iceman rambled as they approached, openly admiring it despite the hold Alfred had on the back of his neck.

"What does it do?" Alfred demanded, glowering at him.

Ivan’s smile widened, fondly crazed.

Pale violet gleamed at him.

"It removes super powers from their owners."

 

 

The warehouse wasn’t hard to find, considering that it was surrounded by a glowing blue force field now.

Two women stood guard out front, one in the darkest shades of black, the other garbed in a simple white dress with a small silver shield.

"Y- you can’t enter right now, so please leave, okay?" The girl in the white dress asked politely, rubbing awkwardly at her arm.

Assembled before them were five of the so-called ‘Super Six’, gauging their opponents with no small amount of caution.

"Apologies Grim Reaper, Lady Knight… you know as well as I that we cannot simply abandon our friend." Francis explained, approaching the two.

"Then you will die here." The woman in black said coldly before vanishing, only to reappear behind the Frenchman as she drove a dagger up into his spine.

The others jumped back as he laughed and jerked off and away from her blade, whirling around to tsk at her even as black blood seeped from his wound. “Now, now… be careful with those or you might hurt someone.” Francis—’ _Le Voleur_ ’, or The Thief—chided, distracting her as Elizaveta came up from behind, mace swinging.

Before the weapon could hit, however, it met empty air but a centimeter from the assassin’s head, before bouncing off with the force with which it’d been swung, taking the female warrior with it as she let out a startled scream, hurtled into the wall of a near building.

"D- don’t hurt my sister! I’m sorry!" Lady Knight yelled, tears beading in her eyes as she retracted her hand. The barrier around Grim Reaper faded but not before the girl herself did, however it was by no means a retreat.

This was _war_.

 

 

For all the danger he was in, Alfred could only stare.

He had seen his fair share of disaster before. His parents had died young and he had been raised an orphan, somehow surviving an accident that they didn't. His powers had been found out before even he knew about them, tested and recruited at the tender age of seven. He had been dubbed project ‘Hero’ and so he’d carried on that name with pride even as disaster struck down his caretakers, leaving him alone until Kiku had found him.

Tragedy was not uncommon for any of them. Strength came from within and their powers followed after.

But that fled him in this moment. He didn't care if tears were streaming down his face in front of his mortal enemy. He didn't care if the noise he had made was more of a sob than a scream.

_Arthur_.

He was so perfect—so beautiful. It was haunting; he felt sick.

His fiancé’s umbrella was trapped mid-swing, a moment in time captured like a photograph, body a torrent of angry water, a swirl of pain and sorrow and righteousness his expression. He looked so focused, so determined, his resolve clear. This was what he was dying for and he was going to put his all into it.

His best for Alfred.

It was both love and horror, his frozen body surrounded by a swirl of blackened concrete flooring where the machine had struck him just before it had broken down. One last shot. One chance to take out his powers.

Yet he was not human, but water, frozen by the hand of the man he sought to kill, distracted away from the machine he came to destroy.

He had succeeded in disabling it, but at what cost? A man could survive without powers, but what of water? What bound him together now but the temperature of his frozen body?

Ivan watched the spectacle that was Alfred in silence for several minutes, the hero’s body jerking in surprise when his voice broke the quiet, cold and dripping with disdain. “Does  _this_  reach your heart, Hero?”

Alfred looked at him, wordless. How could he possibly reply to a question they both knew the answer to.

"I had hoped to use this machine on _you_. I wanted to make you human so that I might torture you at my leisure. But…" A smile ghosted the villain’s lips. "This does nicely, yes?"

Breathing ragged, Alfred’s vision burned with tears. “You’re a  _monster_.” He growled, voice a heavy gravel, barely strung together to form words.

Iceman chuckled. “I have been called worse.” He admitted proudly. Gaze flickering to the prone form of Arthur, he smirked. “He is lovely, yes? A perfect ice sculpture. Seasons may bring rain, but it all freezes over in the end. His is a perfect death, but spring is coming. He shall melt like a snowman before long.”

Alfred’s eyes widened, gaze turning back to the frozen figured, nausea overwhelming him. “No…”

"Oh  _yes_.” The villain confirmed. And then his voice went soft—innocent—and he smiled as blue eyes returned to him. “Or…”

“ _What?_ " Alfred demanded.

"Or I could end it all now with a snap of my fingers." Iceman said gently, staring down at his own hand. He pinched his fingers together, mimicking the motion. "He will unfreeze just like that. So simple, yes? A puddle on the floor and no more."

“ _No_ —,” Alfred wheezed. “No,  _please_ — reverse this! You can, can’t you!? You can bring him back, right? I’ll… I’ll give you anything— just please  _don’t_ —,”

Ivan’s smile flared up into a grin. “No? No you wish to have a statue of what once was? How morbid. I will let you keep your deceased lover as he is, but you must let me leave here. You must not pursue me. And you will never see me again. In return, I will let you keep this Arthur, to do with as you wish.”

It didn't matter what Ivan said because he was already nodding, because as long as Arthur wasn’t just water on the floor maybe there was hope—  _a chance that he could be saved_. If they could preserve him somehow, then they had all the time in the world to research a cure. So he wordlessly agreed.

His friends would hate him. Iceman had caused them all so much grief and here he was, so close at hand. Alfred could kill him now, defenseless as he was. His sisters were absent. There were no right hand men at his beck and call. There were no machines or devices to protect him. All it would take was a short fight and it would be over, like a snake suffocating a rat.

_But he had no choice_.

If it meant sacrificing Arthur, Alfred simply couldn't do it.

Even if it meant his own lover’s actions had been in vain.

Iceman’s expression turned content—satisfied. “Consider us even now, Hero.” He told him, words distant and self-assured. A final moment passed between them, enough to inhale and exhale, before the villain turned and walked away, the sound of boots on concrete the only noise in the entire warehouse until even that eventually ceased.

He was gone.

Yet the sudden silence was filled by the sound of a single droplet hitting stone as Arthur began to melt.


End file.
